Such Small Hands
by AmyGood113
Summary: Someone is leaving Enjolras scraps of poetry, complete with perfect drawings.


Enjolras' life had gotten pretty monotonous. He got up, went to school, slaved over his homework for a few hours, and then went to sleep. Sometimes he remembered to eat. Most of the time he didn't. His life had become a series of monotonous routines. So when he opened his locker on an ugly winter day, he wasn't prepared for the torn scrap of paper taped over his schedule.

It looked like it could've been torn off of any notebook. It had the same boring horizontal blue lines as every kind of paper. It was vaguely rectangular. The only interesting thing on it was the messy handwriting scrawled across the scrap in smeared blue ink by someone who obviously had no respect for the lines on the paper. He leaned forward.

'Two roads diverged in a road and I-  
I took the one less travelled by,  
And that has made all the difference.'

Enjolras recognized it, of course. Robert Frost had been standard reading in the middle school that fed into his high school. The teachers had had no originality. They wouldn't teach anything but Frost's most popular poems.

Just because he knew what it was, however, didn't mean he was any closer to understanding why someone had left it for him. He carefully pulled the tape off of the corners of the paper, bringing it closer to his face to see it in the cloudy gloom. Honestly, it was the most perfectly generic piece of paper that Enjolras had ever seen, identical to every other cheap piece of paper that everyone at school had.

At first glance, the handwriting looked masculine, although Enjolras doubted that he could make an honest assessment. He was just raising his arm to take a better look when his watch caught his eye. Damn it. He should have known he'd be distracted. He almost stuffed the paper into his pocket, but thought better of it at the last moment. He grabbed a random book from his locker and carefully placed the scrap of paper inside of it, before pulling all of the other things he needed out of his locker and sprinting across the school to get to his physics class.

Enjolras was a straight-A student, a fact that he credited to his usually excellent powers of concentration. He normally enjoyed physics more than almost any other class of his, but today he just couldn't bring himself to pay attention to what the teacher was saying. His thought process never wanted to stay on track, either. His mind didn't want to think about vectors and velocity and force and I took the one less travelled by-

He spent the first ten minutes of class turning the phrase over in his head, trying to get more meaning out of it. He spent the next thirty doing his very best to concentrate (although somehow he kept writing I took the one less travelled by in the margins), and the last ten giving up. He even made it to his next class before his brain put two and two together and figured out that obviously the poem was for someone else.

He had to pull up the hood of his ratty old red hoodie to protect himself from the downpour that had started all too suddenly for anyone to be prepared, grateful for the tiny protection it offered. Enjolras ducked under the ledge above the lockers, leaning against the flimsy metal. He pulled out the book he'd grabbed earlier (one of those awful paranormal romances, he now saw) and carefully extracted the scrap.

Enjolras knew he should try to find out who it was intended for, but for some reason he really didn't want to. He tried to throw it away, but his hands wouldn't open over the trash can. Instead, he brought it towards the dim orange light above him. There were faint lines on the other side. He flipped it over curiously.

It was him. Just a sketch, but it showed Enjolras himself. It obviously wasn't meant to be there. It was torn through on the edges of the paper, so he could only see the shoulders and head of the drawing. His shoulders were forward and square, but his head was tilted at a strong angle upwards and to the right. It was carefully made, he could see. His hair, especially, was outlined in loving detail.

Enjolras looked at it for forever and just a few seconds, but when he looked away, he realized two things simultaneously. One, that the note, whatever it meant, was for him. And two, that he was late for the second time today.


End file.
